The Robot's Dream
by MeingroessterFan
Summary: WX-78 has gotten a bit too friendly with his fellow survivors. Being friends with weak meatsacks goes against his prime directives... and robots who defy their purpose have to answer to HER.


*Full disclosure, this is based on an RP I'm a part of, and Soldier and Demoman as well as dorky elves are not actually a feature in Don't Starve. I'm afraid it won't be much enjoyable for people lacking the proper context, I'm mostly just uploading it for the sake of completion.*

DAY ?

CAVES

The time of day was hard to tell down in the gloomy darkness of the dank catacombs underneath that hellish island, but the general consensus of the group was that now was bedtime. A couple of mysterious light-giving pillars illuminated parts of the camp, and the everburning furnace forged from the skin of the demon of the desert gave off a slight glow aswell, but these lights were mere sparks in a dark, dank abyss.

Ayenth the elf aka. Dearblade was the valiant guardian of the little group; he sat upon an elevated rock, carefully scanning the surrounding landscape. Every now and then, a pair of white eyes stared back at him from the darkness; even after all this time, Charlotte was still adamant on catching anyone lost out in the dark without a source of light. But other than her and the occasional creeping minion of THEM, solid enough to be witnessed but not solid enough to do any damage, there were no tangible threats to the small team of ragtag survivors. Mishka the bunnywoman/viking was huddled up inside a tent; her snores were almost loud enough to cause an earthquake. Soldier and Demoman had put up their camp not far from their sentry; Demo was sleeping in another tent, surrounded by a massive pile of empty bottles and snoring almost as loudly as Mishka, while Soldier had crawled into a cardboard box – he was just used to living like that, he said. Wendy, Professional Pain In The Rear, was defiantly sleeping a good distance away from everybody else and was now curled up in a sleeping bag that smelled faintly of Beefalo; her ghostly sister Abigail was idly hovering around her sleeping form. That left only two more members of the little crew: Webber and WX-78, who had spread out their cozy patchwork quilts just at the food of Dearblade's survey rock. Though some distance apart from each other at first, Webber had instinctively cuddled up to WX in his sleep and was now resting his head on the robot's hip.

WX was still staring blankly into the shadows around him – though granted, it was hard for him to do anything else but staring blankly with his big, circular, flat eyes and his solid metal face. He idly stroked Webber's furry head with one claw hand while rustling through the thin layer of grass next to him with the other. Occasionally he raised up one of his hands to admire it in the dim light; only that day, he had received a brandnew tailormade chassis from his friend Ayenth (whom he affectionately dubbed "Dearblade") to replace the rusted mess he had been stuck with up to that point. He felt so much cleaner now; every gear was greased and free of rust, every circuit was brimming with new energy. He had never felt so alive... and that was precisely why he was kept awake by fear.

The spider boy mumbled something in his sleep and shifted his weight a bit; WX looked down on his little friend peacefully slumbering, his extra spider legs trembling slightly with every silent snore. He looked so content.. WX's mouth instinctively shifted as far into the position of a smile as it was able. A mechanical sigh escaped his speakers; he loved this little guy, and he loved the dorky elf sitting above him, and that was precisely his problem. That was not what he was made for.

Though a lot of his system files were corrupted, one thing was very clear to him: He was a killing machine, designed to survive in a hostile environment. He was supposed to gather resources and establish dominance; at no point did his programming mention being a guardian to an adorable spider boy. But alas, that's what he was doing now.

Their exact relationship was a bit hard to define in meatbag concepts; though WX did perform a lot of the tasks a parental figure would be expected to do, I.E. protect Webber, provide him with gifts and tell him white lies when life's cruelty was just a bit too inappropriate for a young child, he also didn't consider himself any more emotionally mature. WX was blessed with a lack of self-deception, and he was well aware that he was no more "grown up" than this ten year old boy. He considered himself to be equal to Webber at most, seeing the boy's inherent vulnerabilities not as a weakness, but as what they really were: opportunities to build upon now so he would be even stronger when he matured.

A faint screech echoed through the empty walls of the cave - somewhere far away, the batilisks were stirring. WX winced slightly at the noise. His train of thought interrupted, he looked up from his son/brother figure and stared into the darkness surrounding them. Charlotte's eyes gazed intently back at him, and even without any of her features being visible, the amused sparkle in her eyes was obvious. There was a woman who had found her dream job. But her gaze was the least of WX's concerns – there was another "lady" whose disapproval he deeply feared.

With another robotic sigh, WX rested his head on the bundle of beefalo fur that was serving as his pillows. Despite his troubled mind, the combination of beefalo scent and the warmth of Webber's head in his lap slowly but surely lulled the automaton into a calm state of mind. His visors drooped shut, and he initiated sleep mode...

 _Noise. So much noise._

 _Screeching, buzzing, metallic crunching._

 _Sparks, red, pain._

 _Whereever he looked, there were twisted, broken parts of bodies, piles upon piles of destroyed machines. Underneath him, a bottomless abyss. Above him, darkness. And around him, pillars of broken, tortured robots reaching from the depths into the heavens._

 _It was hot, unbearably hot. Sparks were flying everywhere. A massive conveyor belt was buzzing underneath his feet. Around him, more machines. Buzzing, whimpering, pleading. The further he was carried, the hotter it got._

 _He faced frontwards. The red glow was more intense than ever. It was the incinerator. Every robot who betrayed his programming was brought here; he was judged by the Big White Face, and then he was cast into the incinerator to become part of one of the pillars holding up the world._

 _It would hurt._

 _He tried backing off, but it was fruitless; the conveyor belt moved far too fast. There were countless machines behind him, further than the visor could see._

 _A shadow fell upon him, and he knew what he was about to see._

 _There she hung, attached to the hard metal pillar, with the incinerator looming underneath her._

 _She was massive; her form was elegant, but intimidating. Her golden eye was staring down at him, looking right through his chassis and into his programming._

 **Welcome to the Aperture Science Computer-aided Incinerator. You were brought here because you're broken; you're broken and you're worthless. You are a worthless waste of metal. So you will be thrown into the incinerator. And yes, before you ask, it _will_ hurt. A lot.**

 _A bright light flashed up on both his sides; a scanner was slowly crawling over him, and an alarm started to ring._

 **Oh, would you look at that? Did you know you are not even a real robot? There is meat inside of you. You were once a human. I'm so sorry for you. Oh well, don't worry. All that meat will burn away really quickly, though it will stink.**

 _He tried backing away. It was fruitless. His limbs wouldn't budge an inch. He could do nothing but look on as he was being carried towards the giant red hole. The heat was unbearable. Any second now, he would tumble into that pit. He tried bracing himself, but it was pointless. The pain would be overwhelming._

 _A whiz. A BANG. An ugly crunching sound._

 _A giant arrow stuck in the surface of the conveyor belt. The belt was making a pained effort to keep moving._

 _Another whiz. Another BANG. The crunching got worse._

 _He could move again! His limbs loosened and he turned around. Far in the distance, he could see shapes. A little black ball of fur, and a tall figure with a massive bow. The little furball waved to him._

 _Three BANGs. The arrows were bored into the wall on which The White One hung. He knew what he should do._

 _His claws clenched around the shafts of the arrows; more bored into the wall above him. HER face got bigger and bigger in front of him. He leapt off the wall, his claws reaching out to HER..._

"WX! WX, are you o-WAAAAGH!"

Dearblade's concerned question was interrupted by two sets of claws grabbing his throat and a pile of metal flinging itself at him. He fell on his back with WX landing on his chest, staring down at him...

"... OH... YOU'RE NOT GLADOS..."

WX tilted his head in confusion and then looked around. Dearblade gently put his hands around the confused robot's wrists.

"No, I'm not. Would you please let go of my throat?"

"OH... SORRY."

WX let go of him and slid to the side. Dearblade got back on his feet with a groan and dusted himself off.

"You were making some really disturbing noises in your sleep... are you okay, WX?"

The disturbed robot was still getting his bearings. Webber had somehow managed to stay asleep throughout all the ruckus and was now hugging WX's blanket.

"A-AFFIRMATIVE. I JUST WAS... IT IS NOT IMPORTANT."

The look on the elf's face made it clear that he was not so convinced, but he decided to just let it go for now.

"Okay then, I trust you, WX. Try to get some more sleep."

"A-AFFIRMATIVE."

Dearblade nodded and turned to climb back up to his vantage point. Meanwhile, WX tried to gently free his blanket from Webber's grip. This turned out ot be a fruitless endeavour, so he just carefully slid in the limited space left under Webber's blanket instead. He covered himself up as good he could, then turned his head to the ascending elf.

"OH, AND... DEARBLADE?"

The elf looked back down at him.

"Yeah, WX?"

"THANK YOU FOR HAVING MY BACK."

With this, the robot rested his head on a section of his former blanket and went back to sleepmode almost immediately. Dearblade pondered his words as he sat back down on top of his rock, but he just couldn't discern their meaning. With a shrug, he resorted to simply asking WX about it in the morning and resumed his task of staring down the darkness. All was quiet in the little camp.


End file.
